


why can't we just be twenty?

by recryption



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recryption/pseuds/recryption
Summary: it's hard to escape the reach of your past, but tord can try anyway.





	why can't we just be twenty?

Tord decides to show up a few months after The End.

At least, that was what he referred to it as. In many ways, it was an End - an end to his aspirations of conquering the world, an end to any trust Edd, Matt, and Tom might’ve put in him, an end to his eye and his arm - he could go on. His memories of The End had been engraved in his memory with a hot knife.

The house on Dirdum Lane looked the same as it was before The End. They must’ve decided to rebuild it. There was no evidence of smoking-hot metal sticking like weeds out of the ground, no rubble strewn across the road; for all intents and purposes, he might as well have never come back at all. There is a strange pang of loss in him, that his whole impact could be erased so easily.

It was the perfect July evening, months after what had changed everything, but the house looked the same, with its red ceiling and huge windows and wooden door and Tord stood at the entrance like he was doing nothing more but coming back from a particularly long grocery trip.

He stands there, struggling with words for what feels like hours. There really… was nothing he  _ could  _ say, was the problem. Nothing could make up for - nothing could explain - what had happened during The End. He takes a moment to ask himself  _ why _ he thought it was even remotely a good idea to come back.

He takes a moment to ask himself why he thought it was remotely a good idea to ask if he could  _ stay  _ with them again.

Deep breath. The air was still hot and muggy, even as night fell. Tord knocks on the door.

“Coming!” a voice inside calls, and Tord already feels his chest tightening. This was definitely a mistake. That voice was distinctly -  _ very _ distinctly -  _ Tom’s _ , and wow, out of all the people Tord was hoping to see, Tom was not on that list. He had been praying for Matt, at best, and Edd would be the fair option, but Tom…

There’s muffled swearing from inside as Tom struggles with the lock, and then the door opens and warm living room lights pour onto the rapidly darkening lawn. The smell of something burning immediately hits Tord. Edd must be trying to cook again.

It takes Tom a moment to register who it is, and his demeanor changes in an instant; his posture tenses, a furious grimace carves ugly lines into his face.

“Who is it?” Edd yells, from presumably the kitchen.

“Hold on!” Tom yells back. His gaze flicks up at Tord again, and his scowl turns downright  _ predatory.  _ Tord realizes just how much  _ effort  _ it was taking Tom to control himself.

“Listen, I just want-”

“I don’t care,” Tom hisses violently, tossing a glance back at the kitchen. “I’ll give you two minutes to leave, and I’ll tell Edd it was just a salesman.”

“Tom,  _ please _ -” and Tord can feel a part of himself withering under Tom’s piercing gaze-

“No more  _ pleases _ . You leave now, and you don’t touch or ruin  _ anything  _ else, and I’ll tell Edd it was just a salesman. Get  _ out _ .” Tom’s tone is black, merciless,  _ dangerous _ , and Tord can feel the anger coursing through Tom’s body-  _ how was he controlling himself? _

“I just want to talk to Edd,” Tord says, standing his ground, even though his every bodily instinct is to take Tom’s advice and  _ run _ .

There is suddenly a hand at his neck, cutting off his breathing, and Tord claws at it desperately, gasping for air. Tom’s eyes are black slits in his face.

For a moment, Tord thinks he might  _ die  _ here.

“Go,” Tom repeats. “ _ now _ .”

“Just- just let- god, please-”

There is suddenly air in his lungs and Tord is doubled over, his hands grasping his neck as he gulps in oxygen. Tom stands at the door like a stone sentinel. He would never let Tord in. He  _ hated  _ Tord with every bone of his body. Why did Tord even think, for a  _ second _ , that this was a good idea?

“Tom?”

Edd’s voice is suddenly a lot closer, a lot louder, and Tord wants to frantically call out to him but he’s still trying to catch his breath.

“It’s nothing,” Tom says, turning to block the door. “Just a salesman.”

“That didn’t sound like… is that  _ Tord _ ?”

“No, no, we are not doing this again,” Tom says, throwing his hands in the air. “Edd, no. You can’t possibly-”

“Why are you here?” Edd asks.

Tord feels like he’s the fish being shot at in the barrel.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tom interjects, before Tord can even speak a word. “I don’t want him here, you don’t want him here, Matt doesn’t either, so-”

“No, I want to hear him out.” Edd’s voice is calm, but his eyes are as hard as flint.

“I just- I wanted to- I want to apologize.” Tord hears Tom scoff in the background. “I didn’t know- what I was doing during it all, and I know I ruined everything and you don’t have to forgive me, I just wanted you to know, and-”

“You want a place to stay,” Edd interrupts, and Tord freezes.

“You want a place to  _ stay _ ?” Tom repeats, disbelievingly. “You come back after all this- after everything with a half-assed apology so you can have a place to stay?”

“I-”

“No! Edd, you can’t possibly-”

“Tom, please,” Edd sighs.

“I- I just wanted you to know,” Tord repeats. He can’t think of anything else to say. Edd had hit the nail on the head. Edd’s face is completely unreadable. He had a knack for reading people at the worst times, Tord remembers.

There’s silence, and then-

“You can have your old room back,” Edd says, then cuts off Tom’s objection. “ _ Tom _ , we can talk about this later with Matt.”

Tom’s face looks darker - more  _ vicious _ \- than Tord has ever remembered as he storms back into the house. The sound of a door slamming echoes loudly in Tord’s head. Edd is still just - so expressionless.

It feels too much like normal as Tord steps into the house. He takes off his shoes and puts them down by the door, Edd locking the humid air out behind them. The smell of burning is definitely more distinct, now. Tord feels like he’s coming home from a day out on the town. Matt would order pizza when the cooking didn’t work out, and they would eat it in the living room while watching reruns of old shows and cartoons, Tom and Tord bickering for fun-

“You might not be able to shower today,” Edd says, jolting Tord out of his memories. “Tom… He locks himself in the bathroom, when he gets like this. Do you want dinner?”

“It’s fine,” Tord feels himself saying. “I just want to sleep.”

“Your room is in the same place as before. You can stay as long as you like- you’re my  _ friend _ -” (and Edd puts emphasis on friend in a way that makes Tord’s innards twist) “-after all. Just gotta help pay the bills, right?” Edd laughs.

Tord walks down the hall alone, to his old bedroom. Everything is too much the same to be real: the layout of the inner halls, the messy crayon sign taped onto Tom’s door, the flickering light in the hallway that made it all seem like a cheap horror flick. He notices that the picture of himself on the wall had been replaced by a photo of Edd, Tom, and Matt, the three of them smiling for a selfie. The drawers were empty from any clothes (and his former hentai stash, sadly). The room had almost no personality - just like it was before Tord had left for the Red Army.

He strips out of his hoodie and detaches his mechanical arm, putting both on the floor next to the- next to  _ his  _ bed. It doesn’t really feel like his at all, despite what Edd had promised him. Tord flicks the lights off and stares at the ceiling in the dark.

* * *

Tord wakes up in the middle of the night to muffled arguing outside his door. Light sneaks into his room through the cracks of the doorframe, and Tord wonders whether he should get out of bed to listen to the conversation.

He hears what sounds like his name, multiple times.

Tord gets out of bed, almost tripping over his arm and hoodie, before stumbling as quietly as he could to the door. He stands in the shadowed hallway between his room and the kitchen. The shadow of somebody’s hand, gesturing angrily, throws itself violently across the hall.

“Edd, I don’t trust him at all. You know that,” Tom says, and Tord feels something almost like a stone sink to the pit of his stomach.

“Tom, just lis-”

“No,  _ you _ listen. Tord’s been nothing but trouble for us. There’s no way you can let him stay, he’ll just end up ruining everything like he always does.” The stone sinks deeper.

“Todd-”

“Tord.”

“Tord hurt my face and the entire house last time he was here,” Matt chimes in. “I… I don’t know, Edd.”

“I want to give him a chance,” Edd sighs.

“You already have-”

“ _ Another _ chance, Tom. He’s changed. I know.”

“See where your knowledge got us last time!” Tom’s shadow in the hall suddenly grows as he stands up and slams his hand on the table. Tord recoils further into the darkness.

“Look, Tom, I get it! If he does anything out of line, anything suspicious, just tell me. Tom, I just want…”

Edd’s voice gets serious, too quiet to hear despite Tord’s straining. Tom’s shadow retreats as he sits down again.

“I want it to be the same too!” Matt exclaims. “It was fun, then. Maybe the new Tord will be more fun than when he was here last time.”

“...Alright,” Tom says, finally. “Alright. We’ll try it.”

They murmur quietly to each other, and Tord slinks back to his room in the dark, not wanting to even try to hear the rest of the conversation. He wonders how quickly it would be until he had to go crawling back to the Red Army.

* * *

Life is alright, for what feels like a long time.

Tord quickly finds out that Edd wasn’t actually kidding when he said that Tord had to help pay the bills if he wanted to stay in the house. Edd took art commissions online, Matt went out and worked as a  _ model _ (Tord wonders just how Matt had been found by an agency), and Tom worked retail at a nearby convenience store, coming home each day with stories of the customers that he had tried to help.

Tord finds a job as a tutor by putting out his name online and on posters on the street. He was more than qualified for it, anyway. He had designed and built all his weapons himself, he’s sure that he can guide a few kids through their homework.

All he got out of the job was a steady source of income and a realization about just how much he  _ despised _ kids. God, third graders didn’t understand anything about the principles of engineering or basic quantum physics. All he was tutoring was basic multiplication and addition. Was  _ this  _ the state of the school system nowadays?

Instead of really focusing on work, he spends his days thinking about how he could be the leader of the Red Army, instead of tutoring dumb kids.

_              (He then consequently remembers The End, and tries his best to banish the thoughts from his mind. They never really go away, but he tries.) _

Tord gets his payments in hard cash and does his best to provide for Edd Gold’s Household. Tom walks around the house in just his binder when it gets too hot, Matt wakes up early to perfect his appearance in the bathroom before he leaves for work, Edd buys dozens of colas and puts them in the fridge where nobody else is allowed to touch them, even Ringo paws at Tord for attention - it’s like nothing’s changed.

He sits as far apart from them as he can get during movie nights and sleeps early to avoid dinner as often as he can. Things are still alright. Things are still good.

* * *

“Tord!”

Someone calls his name from across the road. Tord turns and tries to pinpoint where the voice came from, but there’s seemingly nobody there; they had probably been lost in the Saturday afternoon crowd. The odd familiarity of the voice strikes Tord as strange, but he shrugs it off. The only people he knew in the town anyway were the kids he tutored, the parents of those kids, and Edd, Matt, and Tom.

When he reaches the grocery store, someone taps him on the shoulder, panting heavily; they must’ve run to catch up to him. Tord turns, and he thought he’d never-

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, after you left!” Patryck grins widely, and Paul is right behind him, his left eye cloudy just like Tord remembered. “Oh, we set up base here to try to recruit people into the army again. The whole Red Army is a lot smaller now, since you left, but that’s understandable! What’s been up with you? Is your metal arm bothering you? You should come have coffee with us again-”

“Patryck, you’ve  _ just  _ seen the man.” Paul’s smiling too, but Tord can’t feel anything but  _ shock _ . He never wanted to be reminded of the Red Army again. He didn’t think he ever would - but here they are, two living, walking memories of his time back in Norway. He never wanted to think about them again, in fear that he would want to go back  _ (more than he already did) _ . He had never wanted  _ this _ -

“Sorry, but I need to run, I’m kinda on a schedule, sorry I can’t stay for longer,” Tord stammers, backing away. He needed to  _ go _ , right now, before his old thoughts came back, before they forced him back into the Red Army-

“Aw, really?” Patryck whines.

“I’m sure he’s busy.” Paul pats Patryck on the back. “Listen, why don’t you take our numbers, and we can chat later? You  _ did _ finally replace your old flip phone, right?”

God, Paul and his rationality. Tord has no choice but to take out his phone, putting their numbers in, before hastily excusing himself to go back to his shopping. His mind seethes with  _ fear _ , with  _ guilt _ , his hands shake badly as he picks up the shopping basket, and he can barely remember what he was supposed to be getting. He should’ve gotten the list that was taped up on the fridge, but he was always so good with remembering, he just didn’t  _ know  _ that Paul and Patryck would ever come back, he didn’t  _ know- _

Tord wonders if he should just go back home.

~~ Tord wonders for the fourth time that day if he  _ should  _ go back to the Red Army. ~~

…

He takes out his phone, stares at Paul and Patryck’s newly registered numbers, then silently promises himself never to even think about it again. He had picked Edd, he had picked Matt, hell, he had even picked Tom over them and he was  _ happy  _ with his choice.

* * *

_ (Tord finds himself calling Paul’s number that night, and feels almost disappointed - feels almost  _ guilty _ \- when Paul picks up. He finds himself making arrangements to get coffees later that week, and goes to sleep feeling sickness burble up in his throat.) _

* * *

Their first meeting is on a cool Thursday afternoon. It is the middle of September, and the leaves are turning orange and red. The three of them are sitting outside the cafe, chatting like nothing had changed, and Tord feels so  _ wrong  _ just for sitting with them, he feels  _ bad  _ that it’s so natural to relax like it was just a coffee break back in the army. He didn’t want it to be normal - his new life was supposed to be what was normal. The Red Army was supposed to feel foreign and strange, but it didn’t and he  _ hated  _ it.

Paul and Patryck, upon finding out about his job as a tutor, proceeded to laugh at his forced proximity with so many small children, then offered him a position  _ back _ at the army he had spent months trying to avoid even the thought of.

“No, no, nothing deep, nothing like that!” Patryck scrambles to clarify everything, seeing Tord’s immediate grimace. “It’s just- we need a data-feeder, like we give you people’s names and info and stuff and you punch it into the computer.”

“I’m… I don’t know. When I left, it was for  _ good _ , y’know?”

“I’m sure we can pay better and more reliably than the kids you tutor,” Paul coaxes. “You don’t have to talk to any official members if you don’t want to, and nobody will know that you used to be Red Leader. These are all new recruits we’re dealing with.”

“I…”

“Plus, you’ll get to see us more! Consider it!” Patryck smiles widely, blissfully oblivious  _ (as he always was, Tord spitefully thinks)  _ to Tord’s almost-imperceptible scowl, to the way his stomach churned with shame for even having coffee with them when he had promised  _ himself  _ that he was cutting all his ties to the past.

“Look, just text me if you decide to. We can get you started right away.”

_              (“Sorry, I don’t want to deal with the Red Army anymore.”) _

_              (“I’m fine with my job now, and quitting would cause a lot of problems with all the parents that I just don’t want to deal with.”) _

_              (“I feel guilty just for sitting with you guys, can we not mention anything regarding the past at all? Can we just be normal friends?”) _

“I’ll think about it,” Tord promises, feeling guilt eat away at his innards.

“Great! Nobody will have a clue who you are - who you  _ used  _ to be, sorry - we promise!” Patryck rummages through his pockets for a pen, before scribbling an address down onto a stray napkin. “Feel free to swing by, we’ll be there whether you wanna work there or not!”

Tord feels a strange sense of almost-nausea as he takes the napkin. He already knows that he’s going to quit his job as a tutor - he knew that he was going to quit the moment Patryck offered the position to him. He tells himself it’s the lure of higher pay, of less interaction with children, of more time with his old friends. He insists to himself that it  _ wasn’t  _ the lure of his old life, of subtly helping his old goal, of going back to what he was part of for years-

* * *

Tord makes sure that Edd, Matt, and  _ especially _ Tom don’t know where he goes to in the daytime, now. He dodges their questions about why he’s suddenly switched to getting a paycheck instead of cash, and sighs in relief when they finally stop asking.

The address is for a worn-down office building downtown. He reports there on weekdays and signs in with an assigned number, rank, and duty. It feels just like how it used to, when he was a soldier instead of Red Leader, and he hates the way it feels more normal, more natural, more like  _ home  _ than even Edd’s house does at times.

Paul and Patryck are always there, guiding people through the process of signing up. New recruits in their unbloodied blue coats and red sweaters file in through the office every day, and, as promised, none of them know who Tord is - at most, all they get is a vague sense of familiarity, likely from his wanted posters that used to be plastered on every street corner. He meets a few of them during his lunch breaks, but can never seem to remember their names - they blur by like the flash of minnows in shallow water, like the cars that pass him by on his daily drive to work.

* * *

“Have you ever thought about being our leader again?” Patryck proposes one day at lunch, looking dreamily off into the distance. His head was lost in the clouds, as always. Tord nearly chokes on his goddamn soda.

“Not really.” Tord lies through his fucking teeth. He doesn’t want to admit how much he still thinks about it. He had already picked Edd and Matt and Tom over the Red Army. It was  _ done _ . He didn’t want to go back to killing people, to taking over countries, he was only in his twenties and he just wanted things to be normal-

But  _ god _ , the feeling of power and control when he was leader was like nothing else.

“Really?” Paul looks at him skeptically.

“Yeah, I’m fine here. Red Leader was too much work anyway.” Tord laughs it off. He prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that they took it as a joke.

“Well, we’ve always got space if you’d ever want to come back,” Patryck offers. “Remember when we took over like… half of Norway, with your help? This new guy’s just been procrastinating, hasn’t done anything yet.”

Tord can’t help the way his heart jumps at being offered the position of Red Leader again. God, he so desperately wanted to, but he was already… he had picked, and he had picked Home. He was young, he shouldn’t  _ want  _ to go back to his old life of power and control and conquest-

He drives home that night and sits in the car instead of going inside the house, rolling the windows down and letting the cool air wrap around him like a blanket. The thin slit of the crescent moon shines rays of cold light over his face and over the seats of his car. Inside the house, there’s light, there’s his friends chatting in the kitchen, there’s warmth instead of this biting October cold. They were probably having Chinese takeout, as was typical for most Fridays. Edd always insisted on setting aside a portion of their food for Tord, even though he rarely ate with the rest of them.

His thumb hovers over the block button on Paul’s number as he sits in the car, the chilly air settling around his neck like a scarf, nipping at his fingers and at his half-exposed wrists. There were a million other jobs he could take that didn’t force him to think about going back so often. He could just block Paul and Patryck, he could cut and dye his hair, change his clothing, there was  _ nothing  _ stopping him from it, he just had to make the decision-

Tord groans, exasperatedly, and throws his phone in the shotgun seat facedown. He tilts his chair back, staring up at the roof of his car. God, he wishes he could just  _ pick _ , he wishes he could make a solid decision for once in his  _ life _ -

* * *

“Get up.”

“What, wait- what?”

“You fell asleep in the car.” Tom’s waiting, expectant shadow stands outside the car window. “There’s takeout on the table, if you want dinner, and Edd is watching some weird Korean drama that one of his commissioners was obsessed with. It’s hilarious. You should come inside and, y’know, not catch a cold.”

“Alright, alright, gimme a moment.”

Tom retreats into the warmth of the house, and Tord tries to check his phone. It’s out of battery.

_              (At least he wouldn’t be forced to pick now.) _

* * *

Tord sits on the dirty steps of the worn office building in the cold January sun, a cigarette held tightly between his lips as he struggles with the lighter. He hadn’t had a smoke in ages, but Paul had one lit up when he came into the office and he had offered Tord a smoke and suddenly, all his old cravings came back.

Which is why he was taking an unofficial smoke break and trying his damned best to flick open the stupid lighter with his stupid mitten hands. He could’ve sworn that these weren’t so hard to turn on before. It was probably a good idea to take off the mittens, but his hands were so  _ cold _ -

“Hey, Tord!”

_ Fuck. _

“Oh, Tom,” Tord calls back, trying his best to sound enthusiastic.  _ Why was Tom downtown on a workday. He thought he was safe here. God, why did he have to accept the smoke, god, if Paul and Patryck come outside- _

“I didn’t know this was where you worked.” Tom looks up at the building. The steps and windows were smeared with dirt, litter dusted the ground - it wasn’t exactly the epitome of a rich, professional environment. “Kinda old, isn’t it? Suits you.”

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not just that. I’m also calling you dirty.”

Tord groans, and goes back to struggling with the lighter. There are a few blessed moments of silence, before Tom decides to pipe up again.

“Wouldn’t that be easier to do with your mittens off?”

“Yeah, but I’m cold. Why are you here, anyway?”

“Just take them off. I’m here on an alcohol run, ‘cause they sell the  _ best  _ vodka for cheap at a shop nearby here. Maybe you can pick some up for me next time, since you work here already-”

“I’m not buying you vodka while I’m working.” Tord finally gives up the fight and takes off his mittens. The cigarette is lit in seconds.

“You’re not working now, though,” Tom pesters. “What do you do for work, anyway? Some kinda boring office job? Doesn’t fit you, but it pays the bills, so I can’t complain.”

“Yeah, just paperwork and stuff. Aren’t you supposed to be working?”  _ Please leave,  _ Tord prays.  _ Please, God, if you ever existed, make Tom leave right now. _

“Well, I got an unexpected day off, because the owner’s daughter got sick. Lucky for you, you get to work a full shift. Maybe I’ll just hang around for a bit, meet your coworkers. I’m sure they’re more fun than you are.”

“ _ No _ , Tom. I’m going back to work. You can’t come in.” Tord tries to subtly drop the cigarette, crushing it under his heel, but Tom’s eyes follow it anyway. He had  _ just  _ lit it. That was suspicious as hell.

“Why not?”

“Just- just go!”

“What? Are you trying to hide something?” Tom laughs, but his eyes narrow, and Tord’s stomach twists. Tom was onto him- how was he supposed to turn this around,  _ Christ _ -

“Tord, you done?”

_ Fuck! _

Tom’s black eyes widen as Paul opens the door. He registers everything immediately, the way Tord  _ prayed  _ that he wouldn’t - the blue coat, the red sweater, the signature outfit of the Red Army - Paul looked almost  _ identical _ to the way he looked when he was behind Tord on the wanted poster.

“Tom, it’s not what you’re thinking,” Tord protests, but Tom is already backing away, a scowl setting into his face. “Tom, come on, we can talk.”

“You’re  _ still _ with the goddamn Red Army,” Tom growls. “You told Edd, you told  _ me _ , you promised-”

“He’s not working with the Red Army,” Paul says, stoic as always, and Tord could hug him if he wasn’t so afraid of Tom’s reaction.

“Then what’s- what’s  _ this _ ?” Tom snarls. “God, I knew- you fucking promised, Tord! We took you in and you promised us not to-”

“I know, I know Tom, I’m  _ sorry _ -”

Tom stares down Tord, and Tord can’t hold his gaze, looking at the floor instead. Tom is silent for what feels like forever, then-

“You better hope Edd isn’t home.”

Tord can’t look up. Tom’s running footsteps echo in the silence of that cold January sun.

* * *

The windows are rolled down in Tord’s car as he drives home at breakneck speed. It had taken him an hour, almost two, to summon the courage to ask Paul and Patryck if he could go home early; he tells himself that was why he hadn’t taken off running after Tom, it was because he didn’t want to risk losing his job.

_              (He knows, of course, that he hadn’t chased Tom down because he was fucking afraid of what Tom would say, what Edd would make of it, what Matt would do upon hearing about his third betrayal to the group of friends he had had since high school.) _

Dusky light shone through the trees as he locks his car and runs to the door, the sun painting the sky in vivid shades of orange and blue and purple, and suddenly-

Tord can’t move, he doesn’t want to grab his keys, he can’t move to knock on the door and risk seeing Tom’s eyes black like obsidian, Edd’s flinty-cold glare, Matt’s look of complete betrayal just like The End-

He is so fucking afraid.

A breath- in, out- and another. He pretends to fumble for his keys in his pocket, just to stave off the inevitable for a bit longer.

The house is dark, silent, like it had been abandoned. Evening shadows are cast over the floor and walls, painting the entrance room in an almost ethereal lighting. He thought that they would be home. He thought Tom would’ve been there, at the doorway, ready to pounce on him like a cat onto a mouse.

Tord steps inside, slowly, carefully. He takes off his shoes and hangs up his coat. All he can hear is his own breathing, and then  _ something  _ in the kitchen; a chair squeaking as somebody gets up, and that  _ has  _ to be one of them-

Tom’s eyes are black slits against his face washed in the orange light from the kitchen window. Tord jolts when he sees him outlined so sharply against the outdoor sunlight.

“Why were you working with the Red Army?” Tom almost growls it, his voice low. The chair squeaks as he stands up fully. “You  _ told  _ us that you were done with… that. You promised us when you came back, and we believed you, but-”

“No, I’m not part of it anymore!” Tord protests immediately, ignoring the guilt eating at his stomach, saying that he  _ did want to be part of it, he desperately wanted to go back, he had lied to them all even despite his vows.  _ “You- I- I met Paul and Patryck, and they offered me a better job to file paperwork and I’d rather do that than work as a tutor-”

“You were still working for them! You were part of it! That’s why you didn’t tell any of us where you worked, you just dodged questions like you always do and we just accepted it like nothing was wrong. It’s just like  _ you _ , Tord. Just what I expected.”

“There was nothing wrong with it!” Tord suddenly feels fury writhing up through his chest like hundreds of ravenous snakes. Crimson smoke pours out of his mouth with each word. “I didn’t  _ lie _ , I’m not part of the Red Army anymore, it wasn’t-”

“We trusted you not to be part of that, we thought you would keep to at least one of your goddamn promises, but you do what you always do-”

“Why are you so angry at me?! I told you, I’m not part of that anymore, I didn’t  _ want  _ to be part of it anymore, it was just- it was just a job!” Tord yells. He takes a step forward, then freezes when he sees Tom’s shaking shoulders, the way he’s struggling to breathe-

Tom’s hands go white as he clenches them, his mouth furiously trying to find the right words. Tord can see violent tears building at the edge of his black eyes, Tord can see years of rage and fear built up in a too-small form-

“Why don’t you  _ trust  _ us anymore?” Tom snarls, still trembling with too much bottled-up anger, too many years of resentment, too much time spent alone with nothing but his own  _ hate _ . Tord flinches backwards- flinches for what feels like the first time in his life. He feels like he’s young again, getting scolded by the first army commander he met. Tom’s glare pierces through him like a needle, a knife, a  _ harpoon _ -

“You know that Edd wants you to trust us, right?” Tom asks, quietly, quiet in the  _ badbadbad _ way that Tord knows all too well, and Tord can’t move again. “You  _ know  _ that, right?”

“I- I don’t- what-”

“Tell me that Edd wants you to trust us,” Tom snaps, suddenly loud, suddenly his words fill the room with cold fire and the harpoon in his eyes only sharpens with each syllable. “You grow the  _ fuck _ up, and you say it. Edd wants you to trust us, but you still don’t.”

“I-” Tord is about to protest, but he sees Tom’s ice-fire glare and his white knuckles, and he  _ remembers  _ that muffled conversation in the kitchen from months ago and it all clicks together, what Edd wanted from Tord that night. “I- I know Edd wants me to trust you again, but-”

“But  _ what _ !” Tom’s voice is predatory, dangerous, and Tord can’t decide whether to fight, flight, or just  _ freeze _ . “ _ What  _ is so difficult about it, Tord? God, we- we’ve known each other for years, and you come back after The End after ruining everything for us and we take you in like almost nothing’s wrong, but we all know things have changed! Edd just wants you to trust us, he wants things to be normal again, Matt seems like he doesn’t remember but he can  _ feel _ the fucking tension between you and the rest of us, and now you’re off frolicking with the Red Army again even after you promised- god, Tord! We’re young, mistakes happen, why can’t you just let dead things  _ die _ and let this whole thing go! What is so  _ hard  _ about it!”

Tord can hear the blood rush in his ears as the kitchen goes silent. Tom is breathing heavily, seemingly deflating like a popped balloon from a child’s birthday party. The quiet is  _ painful _ , punctuated by the constant  _ tick- tock- tick- tock  _ of the clock. Tord feels like he might burst from the inside out - just like  _ Tom _ , just like a popped balloon from a child’s birthday party.

He sucks in a breath that hurts his lungs.  _ Tick- tock- tick- tock- tick- _

“Tom, what do  _ you _ want?”

“What?”

“You- you said that Edd wanted things to be normal, Matt does too, but what do you want?”

Tom gives Tord an unreadable look. His mouth is drawn shut, black eyes glistening oddly in the low light from the sunset. Tord’s thoughts run like rats, like too-large animals, like a steady  _ clickclickclick _ of clawed feet and nails and Tord can’t  _ think _ .

“I guess I want what Edd wants,” Tom says, and Tord can see the lack of conviction in him, he can read Tom’s uncertain expression like a fucking book.

“You want life to be normal,” Tord states, flatly.

“I want…” Tom murmurs, almost as an afterthought. He almost hums the end of it, like a music composer, a soloist warming up, like the Maco Light’s conductor must’ve hummed as he made his way down the rails before his head was taken off by the train barreling down the tracks.

There is too much silence and it  _ hurts _ . Tord wants to run, he wants to pack his things and get away from Dirdum Lane as quickly as possible, he wants to move to somewhere where he could just be in his twenties and never have to deal with any of  _ this  _ ever again-

“Come watch a movie with me,” Tom says.

* * *

Tord sits on the couch. Tom doesn’t turn on any lights, but he opens the windows, letting dusky sunlight pour into the living room. There’s nothing to watch except for Tom as he fusses with the DVD player, as he runs through their collection of movies until he finally pulls out the right disc.

It’s the fourth sequel to  _ Insane Zombie Pirates from Hell _ . That one had always been Tord’s favorite. He wonders briefly if Tom had chosen randomly, or if he had really remembered.

The volume is turned low, low enough that Tord can feel his pulse in his head as Tom settles in next to him and hits play. The kitchen clock’s ticking can still be heard, despite the quiet screams and exaggerated violence coming from the television.

Tord watches Tom more than he watches the movie; he sees the way Tom’s chest moves as he breathes shallowly, the way his elbow moves so he can support himself against the opposite arm of the couch. Tord breathes, too- in, out, in, out. He sits there, his back straight, unwilling to relax as tension creeps past his ankles, his shins, his knees. The living room is slowly flooding and he can’t do anything but drown.

_              In (tick), out (tock), in (tick), out (tock)- _

“I don’t know why.” Tord’s words tumble out of his mouth like a surging waterfall. “I just- I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, I don’t know why I joined them again, I just- I do too, I want it to all go back to normal but I know just as well as you do that nothing’s the same no matter how much we all try to pretend and  _ god _ , does Edd  _ try _ , but he can’t  _ force  _ it even if he thinks he can and I don’t know what I should do or who I should pick or even if I deserve to have somebody to trust with my problems-”

Tord is finally forced to take a breath, and in that split second, he realizes that he’s sobbing, hard, harder than he thinks he’s ever cried before. “I just- I- wanted- to- be-  _ twenty _ \- for- once-” and his sentences are breathy and hard to understand because of the tears, he realizes, every syllable punctuated by the sharp gasps of somebody who has cried to much they have nothing else to give, but, at the same time  _ so much more  _ to say-

Tom’s hand is scorching fire against his arm, and Tord almost recoils from it. They look at each other in the dusky sunlight, and Tord struggles to keep eye contact, he wipes tears away from his eyes and  _ looks  _ at Tom for what might be the first time in his life. Tom’s black eyes glisten in the light, iridescent like soap, or bubbles, or an oil spill on the surface of the ocean.

“I want it to be like before, I do.” Tom’s voice is slow, gentle, and Tord  _ understands  _ that  _ this _ was the olive branch,  _ this _ was the trust that Tord had given Tom reciprocated, this was  _ his  _ answer.  “I want it… I want it to be like when we first met, when we could never imagine living life without- without  _ each other _ . The petty insults, the laughter, the friendship, the  _ everything _ . I want to be in my twenties with you guys, and do what twenty-year-old losers do, and I don’t want to have to deal with… it all. The Red Army. The past. I  _ do  _ want what Edd wants.” Tom pauses, as if thinking, then smiles carefully. “Remember when we first moved in together, and we found out Edd eats those big tomatoes like you would eat an apple?”

Tord laughs, softly, because he  _ does  _ remember and he  _ does _ want that, more than anything else, he hasn’t been young in so long, he hasn’t had someone to just  _ talk  _ to in so long. “Remember when we all got our hoodies for the first time, and since Matt had two favorite colors, he just decided to get both and suffer through the middle of summer?”

“And when you met us all for the first time, and tried to go for a firm handshake, like we were all business partners at a law firm or something.”

“Come on, I didn’t know what I was doing, I was like fifteen and I still had the  _ worst  _ accent, none of the teachers could understand me. Remember when you tried to buy hard vodka, straight off the top shelf, at the ripe age of sixteen?”

“The vodka was supposed to be  _ medicinal _ , Tord. And your accent is still bad, y’know.”

“It’s not as bad as it was before. And the cashier almost believed it! You had the fake doctor’s notes and everything!”

Tord and Tom laugh, and Tord feels a strange warmth spreading through his chest, through his stomach and throat, through his arms and legs and he allows himself to finally relax back into the couch.

“...Tord.”

“Yeah?”

“I… If you want to. I won’t tell Edd if you decide to leave.”

It’s spoken so quietly, it could’ve been a dream, but Tom’s empty expression burns itself into Tord’s memory.

There is quiet, for a long time, punctuated only by shouts and zombie groans from the old television. Tord glances over at Tom again, who is still shallowly breathing, whose eyes are still glistening like an oil spill. He thinks about the two phone numbers buried deep in his contact list, hidden under fake names and fake contact info.

Tord decides that if this was what Edd and Matt wanted, if this was what  _ Tom _ wanted-

It could be what  _ he  _ wanted too.

* * *

“...I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> this one was a real doozy to write. i tend to lean more towards writing that's more character-study like, and that was the original plan for this fic: a character study about tord and tom's relationship and what might happen if tord came back.  
> obviously, if you've read up to this point, that idea kinda moved forward on its own. at this point, i'm not sure if it's even That Good after i tried to make some semblance of a vague plotline and ruined the original pacing, but i hope it was at least interesting to read! i find the idea of tord being the red leader and all of this stuff happening to them really intriguing, considering they're all so relatively young.  
> some side notes, in no particular order:  
> 1\. this wasn't written as tomtord, but i can definitely see how it can be taken as such  
> 2\. tom is trans, in case anyone was confused by that one binder comment  
> 3\. the fake names tord has in his phone for paul and patryck are, respectively, "eyebrow fuck" and "guy from walmart"  
> 4\. in return, tord's name in paul and patryck's phones, respectively, is "Tord." and ":knife: red leader :knife:"  
> 5\. matt is a model for various brand cereals. y'know, like the reese's puffs rap commercial guy


End file.
